


Kotori

by Ulliva



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Bondage, Deepthroating, M/M, Rope Bondage, Shibari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 11:33:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15581046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulliva/pseuds/Ulliva
Summary: Timmy and Armie get tangled in an on-set arrangement.Rated explicit because this is all smut. This is glorified crack (is it even glorified? Don’t answer that).As a wise man once said: no excuses, no apologies, no regrets.





	Kotori

 

It had started out simple enough. After one of his legendary all-day lunches, Armie had ended up in my apartment, and subsequently in my bed. I’d figured he’d just taken a wrong turn and his autopilot had led him up to my apartment on the opposite side of the piazetta. He’d woken me by trying to fit his key in my lock. If I’d let him fiddle a little longer, he’d probably managed to get it in with brute force. Armie had waved away any objection once he caught sight of my bed. He’d crawled in and, after deciding there was no way I could shift 200 pounds of dead Beefalo weight, I got in with him. I’d woken up with his heavy arm draped over me. Fair mistake, I’d assumed. His drunk, sleeping brain had found someone in his bed and he’d instinctively pulled me into a hug. It wasn’t deliberate. I’d let it slide. 

The second time I woke up, Armie’s intention was very clear. He was dry-humping me through two layers of cotton; his and my boxer shorts. My first reaction was to shy away from his touch, slowly rolling out of his arm. He’d pulled me back in, tightly against his chest, and snaked a hand down the front of my boxers. It suddenly dawned on me that it was not only completely light outside, but that there were also people outside, indicating it wasn’t the crack of dawn. Maybe he wasn’t doing this in a half-sleep sex dream. The thought had excited me. He’d grabbed my dick and balls in one blunt gesture and squeezed me gently. He was very much awake and well aware of who he was touching. I felt myself swell in his palm. Taking that as an invitation, Armie had worked my underpants down to my knees, and did the same to his own. He’d stroked me, urgently, as if he needed me to catch up. 

When he got me as hard as he wanted—which didn’t take much effort at all—he put his erection between my thighs and placed his leg over mine to squeeze my knees together. I realized what he was doing. I’d read about the 'Ivy League rub'. It’d been around since Alexander and Hephaestion. It was safe, low effort, non-intrusive. But all I could think the whole time Armie fucked my thighs was, ‘what if he was inside me?’. He’d made us both come, and after a few repeats, I’d turned around one morning and made him come. It was me who’d taken the step from intercrural to oral, and suggested anal a few times before Armie even considered it. I remembered being on my knees, comparing my forearm to his dick. I’d found him to be the same girth as my wrist, and it had only riled me up. 

 

Armie hadn’t needed much encouragement, but he was more calibrated than I was. For one, he’d insisted on getting actual lube, versus the alternatives I’d suggested. We’d flipped for it, and he’d lost. He came back from the drogheria that afternoon remarkably redder than he’d already been when he left. He did have a thin white plastic bag with some contents, so his trip hadn’t been entirely fruitless. 

‘Did you know they don’t let you shop by yourself?!’ He was shouting. Not angrily, but in disbelief. His eyes were large and round, and his forehead turned redder still. I snorted. I did know they didn’t let you shop on your own, but I let him finish. ‘There’s an old man there, wearing some-some—,’ he shaped an inhumanly small man with his hands, the little bag swinging from his arm, ‘some sort of white _lab_ _coat_? And you have to _ask_ him?’ His lips curled back over his teeth, like they always did when he was talking smack.

‘Yeah, I’ve been there,’ I confessed. I’d bought some chapstick a couple of weeks earlier. I enjoyed his performance though, and doubled over laughing at his frustration. 

‘It’s not _funny_ ,’ he spat. I wholeheartedly disagreed. ‘After I’d asked him for lube— _explained_ to him what I meant—I had to take the tube and pay for it with his wife, who was sitting behind the door of the store,’ he continued. I didn’t have the heart to remind him he probably could have gone to the supermarket a few streets further, where they had made it into the 21st century.

‘That’s Italy,’ I shrugged.

‘That’s not—‘ He didn’t finish his sentence, but shot me a glare before finally removing the baggy from his arm. He was done raving.

The lubricant he had bought turned out to be coconut flavored. We’d both tried it; it tasted like the syrup they put in Starbucks drinks. For the rest of my stay in Crema, all my sheets and towels, and most clothes, smelled like artificial coconut and weed. I was convinced we both exuded the scent from every pore. It grew on me. As did Armie. It had taken a lot of lube and quite some pot to get it right the first time, but I got better with some training. I couldn’t take him on my knees, even though Armie always seemed to gravitate towards that. He was too big, and the angle was uncomfortable. I let him do it once, and felt queasy all day afterward. I loved it when he fucked me on my back though. One time he’d fucked me on the table, and I came so hard we spent almost half an hour looking for stray ejaculate in the bookshelves—that’s where we found it. I loved to wrap my legs around him when he fucked me. Just thinking about it made me hard. I popped a boner multiple times a day on set; it was hard sometimes to distinguish Armie from Oliver. There was no kissing included in our unspoken arrangement though. It wasn’t something we’d agreed on, it just wasn’t a necessity. Kissing was normal and we did it all day. There were kisses on the cheek for everyone, even restaurant owners. Luca sometimes stole kisses on the lips, although they came with a parental fondness. I could kiss Armie on the neck and no one gave a damn. Kissing wasn’t a necessary part of our equation, fucking was. It was convenient, it was needed, and it was _good_.

I hadn’t paid close attention the first time he brought up knots. He’d put up a swing in the backyard of the villa. It consisted of a wicker chair, held up by two thick ropes. I’d commented I might try it, but that I wasn’t sure if it would be able to carry him. He’d told me a clove hitch was one of the most trustworthy knots, and that the bowlines he’d tied to the chair would only get tighter with added weight on them. He’d, of course, demonstrated his work. 

After that, the topic kept popping up. Especially after a few drinks, there was no stopping him. What I thought was a casual hobby turned out to be more of a fascination. He kept his stories succinct, but I noticed the fewer people were around, the more details he let loose. One night, he showed me a photo on Instagram. There was a woman, naked, wrapped in red ropes, hanging from the ceiling. Armie had seemed unaware of his slip-up at first, but the dam had broken. I was the one who brought it up in a sober context. I forwarded him an Instagram account that featured both men and women, tied up, but in a tasteful setting. I hit ‘send’ and went back to eating my pasta. Armie sat diagonally across the table from me. There were a handful of people between us. He had his phone next to his plate and scrolled with one finger, the other hand absentmindedly shoveling risotto into his mouth. I could get used to these lunches. I still wasn’t allowed wine in restaurants at home. The shoveling across the table suddenly stopped, and Armie slipped his phone off the table and into his lap. I could tell he was trying to catch my attention, but I pretended to be deeply involved in the conversation Luca was having right next to me. When I noticed that he was looking on his phone again, I dared to look in his direction. His forehead had gone red again. He was chewing his bottom lip and rubbing his chin, his eyes darting over the screen. He must have felt my staring, because he looked up again and glared at me. I smiled. He shook his head as I continued eating. 

Armie didn’t have any scenes that day, but he hung around on set. That wasn’t unusual. He did hover a little, always hanging in the closest doorway, but not close enough to be in the way. It had become natural to touch him throughout the day, even if we weren’t recording. It didn’t raise any eyebrows; it was normal interaction on set. He didn’t touch me all afternoon. After I’d left my clothes with the girls from wardrobe, I came down to a hysterical scene; half the crew cheered Armie on as he skidded through the gravel in the light blue Piaggio Ape they’d delivered to the set earlier that week. It was a three-wheeled Vespa-truck monstrosity. Armie looked like a giant in it. They were all getting ready to leave for the day. I zipped my sweater up and joined them. The door on the ridiculously small truck hung open, Armie’s long leg grazing the ground as he slowed down. He offered Esther a ride in the back of his truck, but she politely declined.

‘Timmy will do it,’ she chimed. The way she said it implied he should ask me, because I’d do anything he asked. She was right, but still. Cheap shot.

‘Timmy, hop in,’ he blared. There was laughter in his voice, and was convinced before he’d even asked me. I crawled in the back, accompanied by encouraging whoops from the girls. I closed it, and heard Armie slam his door. I sat down and knocked on the back panel to let him know I was comfortable. He took off. It was pitch black, so I got my phone out. After five minutes or so, I started to worry we weren’t just doing rounds around the villa. The way felt too bumpy, and we’d been going straight ahead for far too long. I’d slammed my knees against the sides multiple times. I knocked on the panel again, and when there was no reaction, banged my fist on it. It took another couple of minutes before he finally slowed down. The motor turned off, and a moment later the door opened. I crawled out and grabbed Armie’s hand to stick the landing. I blinked a few times, and realized we were still in the backyard, but the villa had gone very small in the distance.

‘Hey, there’s olive trees here,’ I noticed. Armie didn’t seem interested in my discovery.

‘Were you messing with me?’ He had his hands on his hips. _He_ wasn’t messing around. I opened my mouth and shrugged. He was waiting for an answer though.

‘No!’ I started. ‘Maybe a little? I don’t know,’ I confessed. Why were we discussing this in the backyard, a mile away from everyone else? Armie’s stance relaxed a little. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were that touchy about it,’ I decided to apologize. Armie snorted.

‘I’m not _touchy_ about it,’ he replied. His lips did the thing again on the word ‘touchy’. Pursing, teeth together, curling back. His head nodded from side to side. If he wasn’t touchy about me mentioning it, why did he want to know if I was messing with him? _Oh_. I could tell he’d seen the realization land on my face. He had his arms crossed now, waiting for my reaction.

‘What are you saying?’ I knew exactly what he was saying, and I knew he’d already seen my resolve. For an actor, I was a terrible liar; you could usually read my response before I’d good and well formed it in my head. 

‘What do you say?’ 

I scratched my hair and licked the inside of my cheek, pretending to be hesitant. We were standing in the knee-high grass in an apparently forgotten part of the garden. 

‘You kidnap me in a van and then ask me if you can tie me up as well?’ 

Armie let out a huff. 

‘I asked you nicely to get in the truck and you closed the door behind yourself,’ he corrected. He was right. 

‘I didn’t say no,’ I remarked. Armie raised an eyebrow. I shrugged and held my palms up in surrender. I hadn’t really put up a fight. ‘Why drag me all the way out here though?’ He could have easily asked me in the privacy of one of our apartments. Armie licked his lips. _Here it comes._

‘You know the sitting room with the white couches?’ I nodded. ‘They got rid of the big chandelier for the shoot. I’m thinking if that hook could carry that thing for almost a century—‘ He finished his sentence with a shrug, touching his chin to his chest. 

‘You’re gonna hang me from the ceiling,’ I concluded.

We stood next to each other for a while, looking back towards the house. It was barely visible through the trees. I felt my dick twitch in my sweatpants at the thought. It surprised me a little.

‘Alright. Let’s go,’ I decided. I was getting nervous. Wait any longer, and I might chicken out. 

Armie got back in his truck, I got in the back and closed the door again. We drove back. It seemed to take longer than the way out.

When we finally arrived back at the villa—which was probably only like five minutes later—crew was finishing up. Everyone had left, probably assuming we’d driven into town together. It was less stressful than other sets I’d been on. The house was so big they could just move things from room to room so it wouldn’t be in the way. The workday finished relatively early. One of the gaffers was on his way out when we went inside, and asked if we needed a ride back into town. Armie simply shook his head and thanked him. I made a mental note to remind him I was _not_ getting back in his truck. I already had bruises on my knees. 

 

The house emptied, and I followed Armie into the sitting room. He told me to sit tight. I did, and slumped down on one of the white canvas couches. I kicked my shoes off. It looked more like a home and less like a movie set now that everyone was gone. I leaned my head off the back and looked at the painting on the ceiling. I’d never paid close attention to it. We always referred to it as the Sistine Chapel. I realized it wasn’t a Christian themed painting though. The muscular man on the right had a staff with a vine on it, and grapes hanging from his hair. He was handing a pale woman a ring. Angels above them placed a crown on her head. Bacchus and Ariadne, I deduced. I surprised myself by recognizing the motif. My phone rang. Luca. He called to know where we were, and to let me know that we’d all have dinner at his place in an hour. And to tell Armie to put the Piaggio back where he found it. Speaking of the devil, he came back into the room, a coil of rope over his shoulder. I hung up the phone.

‘Bacchus,’ I remarked, pointing up to the ceiling. He shot it a quick glance and smiled. 

‘Good. He won’t judge us,’ he joked. I laughed and got up. I unzipped my sweater and threw it on the couch. My thick sweatpants followed. It got quite chilly in the evenings. I went to take off my shirt, but Armie stopped me. ‘It might chafe,’ he explained. He held up the pale rope. It looked like hemp. I had no idea where he’d gotten it, if the crew had brought it or he’d just noticed it laying around the house. Either way, he’d found it very quickly. How long had he been planning this? I kept my shirt and boxer shorts on and stood there, unsure what the next step was.

‘That’s a lot of rope,’ I commented. It looked ridiculous. He wasn’t mooring a boat. He dropped some of it on the couch too. Armie took one end and let the rope slide through his hand, then hung it around my shoulders. He wrapped it around once and then pulled it back over my head.

‘That’s already about a yard,’ he commented. I hadn’t thought about it like that. He nodded his chin down, as if to ask for my permission. I felt like my standing there in my underwear was permission enough. I nodded.

Armie dropped to his knees and fed the rope between my thighs. I watched him work in silence. He was fashioning a harness around my legs.

‘Is this how a roast feels before it goes in the oven?’ I joked. It was all I could think of. Armie glanced up in a smile and looked back down immediately.

‘Is this too tight?’ 

He snuck a finger between the rope and the inside of my thigh. I shook my head. He looked up again to confirm. Armie continued with my legs, from knees to ankles.

‘When did you realize you were into...bondage?’ I asked breezily.

‘Shibari,’ Armie corrected.

‘Shibari.’

‘I don’t know, when did you realize you were into big cock?’ 

I mock-laughed. 

‘You know exactly when,’ I teased. Armie’s ears were red. 

‘People aren’t usually as talkative when they’re getting tied up,’ Armie observed. 

‘Am I not supposed to talk?’ I had no idea what the custom was. 

‘You should do whatever makes you comfortable,’ he shrugged. 

‘I’m comfortable talking,’ I decided.

Armie finished on my legs, wrapping the rope around both my ankles and tucking it in tightly. He checked again if he could wedge a finger under the rope. His hand caressed my feet before he stood up. It was harder to talk to him with him right in front of my face. I leaned in to kiss him twice, because I didn’t know what else to do with myself. Armie tied a harness around my chest. 

‘Breathe in,’ he said. I took a deep breath. ‘How does that feel?’ He looked into my face for the first time in a couple of minutes. 

‘Weird,’ I admitted. I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel.

‘I mean physically, does it feel okay?’ I took a deep breath again.

‘Yeah.’ 

That seemed to satisfy him. It surprised me how much care he put in every knot, intertwining the rope, forming a cage around me. I didn’t care for the ropes, but his attention to detail was arousing. He pulled my shirt down carefully, making sure the rope wouldn’t graze my skin. He turned me around and wrapped the end of the rope around my wrists in a similar fashion as my ankles. I was tied up, shoulder to feet. Armie turned me again and looked me up and down. He scratched his bottom lip with his teeth, as if trying to make a decision. He planted a kiss on my lips in conclusion. Apparently, we were kissing today. 

‘Is that okay?’ 

I nodded. Both the kissing and the bondage was very okay.

‘I don’t feel very secure,’ I warned. With my ankles tied together, I felt dangerously instable. 

‘Don’t worry, you won’t fall,’ Armie assured me. His voice was low, almost a whisper, and I believed him. He took another coil of rope from the couch and unrolled it. He took a step back and tossed it towards the hook in the ceiling. He hit it on the second try. I must have made a surprised noise, because he replied with his credentials.

‘I have a bull,’ he defended himself. ‘I’m a cowboy.’ He cracked a bright smile and checked again if the rope was really in the hook. 

Both ends hung on the mosaic floor, and I understood why he had brought so much of it. Armie took one end and used it to tie the harness on my torso to the one on my legs. I was sure he could name all these knots like he had with the swing, but I didn’t ask. I was nervous again. I wasn’t exactly sure why. It wasn’t like I had to perform in any way. When he was satisfied I was properly secured, he grabbed hold of the other end of the rope and, wrapping it around his elbow, he slowly pulled me off balance. I shot him a panicked look when I felt like he was sweeping me off my feet— _literally_.

‘Lean into it,’ he suggested. It was almost a coo. ‘If you were on the back of my Vespa you wouldn’t lean against the turn,’ he offered. I leaned into the harness and found it held. I tensed up when my feet lifted off the ground. Armie steadied me with just a hand on my chest. My body tried to find its balance, and it seemed to have an inclination towards a legs-up position. Armie pulled his end of the rope again, holding it tightly in his hand and wrapping it around his elbow. ‘Let go,’ he repeated. ‘You’re okay.’ Apparently, him talking also helped. I took a deep breath and felt my weight shift. I toppled over, the rope tied to my waist holding me. I saw my toes curled up in front of the painting of Bacchus. I was upside down. Armie steadied me again, kept me from spinning or swinging, and then took a step back. ‘Relax.’ He secured the rope on the heavy door and came back to take a proper look at me.

I hung, upside down, a couple of feet from the floor. It wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Most of my weight rested on my shoulders, my hips a close second, ankles balancing me out. My heart thudded in my ears, my breathing shallow and restrained. My blood had pooled together in my face, or was I just blushing? It was the perfect alibi. I tried to look up at Armie, straining my neck.

‘Look down,’ Armie ordered. I wanted to see him watch me, but I relaxed my neck and looked at the floor. He walked around me. I swayed ever so slightly. It was actually quite comforting. I noticed he took a photo with his iPhone. I felt flattered. 

‘Are you gonna fuck me tied up?’ It was a legitimate question. I was honestly wondering how he would go about that.

‘Shibari is not necessarily sexual,’ Armie replied. ‘It’s an art.’

‘Right. And that’s why I can see your dick through your sweatpants?’ I knew I didn’t have the upper hand in this situation, but I could still fuck with him a little bit. I’d seen memes about men wearing gray sweatpants pass on my timeline, but I’d never identified with them until this very moment; Armie’s erection strained against the tender fabric of his sweatpants, so much so that I could make out the head. He ignored my comment.

‘A rope suspension like this is called Kotori, "little bird",’ he explained. ‘It’s not a traditional term but I think it’s cute. Suits you.’ He reached out to touch my hip, where my T-shirt wasn’t tucked under the harness, and a piece of skin was visible. It tickled. Armie laughed breathily. ‘We’re expected at dinner in half an hour,’ he then said. There was disappointment in his voice as he started to untie me. He lowered me back to the floor, feet first. 

 

‘Oh, come on,’ I protested. ‘You have to at least let me suck you after all this,’ I whined. ‘So we’re half an hour late. They’ll still have wine.’ I saw Armie shake his head. He got rid of the rope that had been holding me up and spun me around to untie my wrists. I pulled away. ‘Don’t.’

That turned out to be the magic word. I wanted to get on my knees. It proved harder than I’d imagined. Armie helped me a hand, grabbing the front of the harness so I could bend my legs. It took every muscle in my abdomen to keep from crashing into him face first. I wobbled, but steadied myself on my knees, arms still tied behind my back. Armie had a smile on his face, but his eyes had glazed over. I bit him through his sweatpants. He lowered the elastic band. His dick bobbed in front of my face. We were gonna be _very_ late for dinner. It was odd not being able to use my hands, but it simplified the task for me. Armie didn’t seem to have any objections. I let my head fall back and looked up at him, my mouth open wide. He ran the tip of his erection over my tongue and groaned. I wrapped my lips around him and closed my eyes.

‘Look at me,’ Armie hummed. He brushed the curls off my forehead and tangled his fingers in the hair on my crown. He forced my head down. My stomach clenched, my dick sat tightly against the rope. There was nothing I could do. Nothing I wanted to do either. Armie fucked my mouth, reminding me to keep my eyes up. He grazed my molars and hit the back of my throat. I drooled over my chin, and heard it drip to the stone floor. I couldn’t look down. I could look up though, and saw the chubby painted putti surrounding Bacchus. They were watching us. Armie tugged my head back, and made me focus on him again. I swallowed. ‘This what you had in mind?’ I nodded. ‘Good.’ I’d never experienced him this verbal, but I liked it. _Little bird_ , I repeated in my head. I opened my mouth again and he filled it instantly. Armie closed his eyes, so I followed his example, hearing his grunts bounce off the stone walls in the empty house. At least, I hoped it was empty. We hadn’t actually checked. It was a little late now. Armie pulled me back again. My face was wet. I wasn’t sure if it was from tears or snot or drool, but it didn’t really matter at this point. 

Armie held my jaw as if he was trying to figure out what to do next. His thumb traced down my wet cheek over my lip. After what seemed like a moment of inner turmoil, he pulled me up by the rope on my chest, turned me around, and lifted me off the floor. It was only two strides to the couch, where he dropped me face first over the armrest. I decided right there that, if he wanted to, Armie could carry me around like a purse all day. Or something more manly, like a gym bag. I turned my face sideways to breathe properly. He yanked my boxers down—for as far as that was possible considering my constraints—and ran a hand over the available skin. The sound of fingers entering a mouth followed, and after that, a _pop_ —exiting. Armie’s wet finger penetrated me. He quickly added a second one and curled them both down a handful of times. I turned my face back into the cushion and bit it, moaning. His fingers left me.

‘Don’t move,’ he ordered. I snorted. I watched Armie leave the room, bare feet making a pleasant sound on the smooth floor. It was like he lived here. It was harder to breathe like this; with my arms still tied on my back, all my weight rested on my chest. I tried to push my toes off the ground a little, shifting on the couch. When I heard Armie return, I rested my feet on the stone, soles up. He’d like that. I closed my eyes as he hovered over me, my erection uncomfortably caught between the couch and my own body. He stepped over my tied up legs. I felt him pour something on me. It was not as cold as lube. His fingers returned, running between my cheeks before pushing into me, both at once this time. The scent finally hit me: olive oil. He was ruining this couch. And me. His fingers slipped in and out of me, repeatedly hitting my prostate with scary accuracy on their way in. I could only take shallow breaths, but it wasn’t because of the harness I was in. I couldn’t remember what my sex life was like before fingering entered the picture. I couldn’t remember anything at all. I felt reduced to an asshole with a face. It was burning. My mouth hung open. I felt my brow relax when Armie took his fingers back. He picked up the glass bottle from the floor and I could picture him pouring oil on himself. I could hear him stroke himself before he rested his erection between my ass cheeks, rubbing along them. It felt like how, when you try to feel something in your mouth with your tongue, everything seems huge. 

‘Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,’ I chanted. He did. 

Armie pushed into me slowly, slipping a few times because of an apparent excess of oil. I’d learned that more was always better when it came to lubrication though. When he finally drove into me, I realized the size I’d imagined him to be wasn’t an exaggeration at all. He elicited a groan from the back of my throat. He was so hard. He filled me slowly, all the way, until his thighs rested against my ass. He gave me a moment to catch my breath before he started fucking me. 

‘ _Fuck_ —you’re so tight like this,’ he groaned. It felt tight, painfully so. I wanted to open my legs to take him, I wanted to be on my back, dig my heels into his back. Armie bent over me and pressed his face into my neck and kissed me. ‘You look hot,’ he complimented. It was all I needed. I found a way to arch my back up, pushing my shoulders down in the soft couch. He drove straight down into me, over and over, riding my prostate and sliding past it, stretching me. In a clear moment, I saw what people meant by pounding, nailing, screwing. A dull ache connected my throat to my ass, and I was suddenly happy the ropes were there to keep me together. Armie grabbed hold of my left hand, and I closed my right over his. It grounded me, and I realized I’d been grinding my erection against the couch, desperately looking for any friction I could get. I was close, crushing Armie’s hand every time he filled me. 

‘You’re gonna make me come,’ I breathed. I don’t know how many times I repeated it, but it only became truer. When I finally did come, I pressed my forehead into the couch cushion, and my ass up into his thrusts. The rest of my body arched off the couch as I came in my boxer shorts and probably over the already-ruined couch. The sound that left my mouth seemed to come from somewhere deep in my stomach rather than my vocal cords. Armie was startled at my sudden orgasm, despite my warnings. He planted his hand firmly in the middle of my back. I was still holding the other one. He didn’t slow down as I clenched around him. He came inside me with a shout that clattered against the high ceiling. 

I planted my face into the couch with a sob that turned into a belly laugh. Armie groaned as he pulled out of me. He kissed the back of my head and began untying me.

‘You okay?’ I hummed in response.

I got my hands back, and began taking the harness off my chest. Armie untied my legs and rolled the rope back into a neat coil. I took my underpants off and cleaned myself with them. I attempted to wipe the edge of the white couch clean as well, to no avail. It didn’t matter much; things got dirty and wrecked on set all the time. I caught Armie watching me closely.

‘I’m okay, Armie,’ I assured him. More than okay. ‘We’re gonna be really late for dinner,’ I remarked. ‘It’s a half hour ride back to town and we didn’t even shower yet.’

‘I’m not showering,’ Armie shrugged. He tugged his sweatpants up. I was equally disgusted and turned on. ‘Just need to get myself a different shirt.’ He took the rope and disappeared. 

I rubbed my legs together; the marks the restraints had left were itchy. I pulled my sweatpants over them again. Guess I was going commando too. I put Armie’s sweater over my shirt and zipped it all the way up. I pulled the hood over my head, hoping that would somehow counteract the obvious bedhead. I stepped back into my shoes and stuffed my underpants in the front pocket of my sweater. I leaned back on the couch and watched the painting again. Bacchus looked pleased. I scratched my wrists. 

‘Ready to go? I’m starving.’ Armie stood in the doorway, wearing a fresh shirt. I jumped up, a little too fast; everything was sore. The good kind.

‘I’m not getting back in your truck, Armie.’

 

 

 

 


End file.
